


Magic

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin finds it difficult to be so rough around their halfling Snow White.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GabesGurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabesGurl/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for heavenreturned’s “Bilbo unknowingly or knowingly slowly breaking down Dwalin's gruff shell and finding the really sweet and gentle Dwarf under all that GRRRR.” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21834475#t21834475).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s little to do in Rivendell for a man like Dwalin. Thorin spends most of his time brooding in his room or plotting out their quest with the wizard. Many of the others—Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, Glóin, and Nori—make a little camp to enjoy their usual shenanigans. Balin brings Ori to the library—they invite Dwalin, but he has no interest in Elven letters—and Fíli and Kíli take to exploring and talking too closely to the elves. Óin and Dori invest themselves in foreign tea, and Dwalin...

Dwalin wanders aimlessly about the Last Homely House, finding it not particularly homely at all and rather dull. The constant floral perfume in the air is an affront to his nostrils, and everything’s too _bright_. But his room’s _too_ comfortable to hoard himself in; he has no use for fluffy linens and artsy carvings. Instead, he meanders about, daring any too-thin elf that passes to look him in the eye. 

He can’t do that to the lord Elrond. It isn’t that he’s too cowardly to glare at their host, but that doing so might get them thrown out, and he would never do anything to jeopardize Thorin’s quest. No matter how much this place could use a little ruckus. When he sees Elrond and the usual simpering servant turning the corner at the end of the open hall, Dwalin instantly diverts his steps, heading out into the open garden. He follows the fanciful stepping-stones through lush grass, between thick bushes of flowers, and past a hanging tree to a small, whimsical clearing. 

And he finds Bilbo sitting inside, his bare feet curled beneath him and the grass licking at his knees. The sunlight filters down to make Bilbo’s honey curls shine, his soft face nearly glowing. His posture is relaxed, his jacket and vest stripped away beside him, the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt hanging open. He looks utterly at peace, warm and content, so beautiful that Dwalin’s steps falter, coming to an end. 

Curled in Bilbo’s lap is a small brown animal with white spots all over it, tall ears and a black snout. It takes Dwalin a moment to place the animal—a deer—but a child, a fawn, still tiny enough to nestle comfortably into a hobbit. Its reedy legs are all folded beneath it, and its head rests atop its flank, while Bilbo’s hand slowly strokes from between its ears, down its neck, along its back, to its tail. At first, Bilbo’s eyes are down, watching the creature he pets so sweetly, and then he glances up to Dwalin, smiling brighter than any gem in Erebor. 

Dwalin’s heart nearly stops in his chest. He isn’t one for _pretty_ things, but every so often, something so unbearably _cute_ wriggles in, and he finds himself melting for the picturesque view of their gentle halfling. Bilbo, always so polite and concerned for those around him, lifts one finger to his lips. Dwalin nods and almost gulps. He’ll be quiet. He doesn’t want to startle the fawn. He’s a warrior, yes, but he gets no pleasure out of scaring innocents. 

He glances over his shoulder before moving. If there were anyone else around, he’d storm away. Dwalin, sun of Fundin, doesn’t fall for things like this. But he’s alone. There’re no witnesses to the crack in his veneer, so he can afford to creep carefully forward, steps light enough to let a sleeping dragon slumber. 

He’s impressed with himself that he manages to get so close. He stops just at Bilbo and lowers down, sitting with crossed legs half in front, half beside them. He can’t help but marvel at the calmness still in the fawn’s sleepy posture, but he knows he can’t take all the credit. Bilbo is soothing it. When Dwalin’s settled, the fawn does lift its head, but only to turn and nuzzle against Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo smiles and pets it still, its tail flicking up occasionally. It occurs to Dwalin that hobbits aren’t called gentlefolk for nothing. 

He wishes he could join. The fawn is adorable, though not nearly so much as Bilbo, and while Dwalin would never admit it aloud, he wouldn’t mind the chance to connect with something like that. He isn’t meant for fragile things, but that doesn’t mean his heart can’t secretly swell for them. 

Slowly, Bilbo reaches forward. He places his little hand over the back of Dwalin’s calloused knuckles, and he lifts Dwalin’s hand, drawing it closer. Bilbo guides Dwalin hand onto the deer’s shoulders. Dwalin’s breath catches at the sheer softness of the downy coat and the warmth that radiates from such a tiny thing. It’s like Bilbo, in that respect. It’s a beautiful moment, though Dwalin’s isn’t sure which of the two creatures before him is more so. The fawn’s ear twitches, but nothing else changes—it lets Dwalin pet it with Bilbo’s tender guidance. 

“Dwalin!”

Instantly, the fawn jolts up. It stumbles out of Bilbo’s lap on four tottering legs and bolts, disappearing into the bushes behind them. A look of scandalized heartbreak crosses Bilbo’s fair features, while Dwalin glances back to see Nori standing along the stepping-stones. “The rest of us are going for a dip in the fountain,” Nori calls, voice far too loud for how close they are, “You comin’?”

Dwalin scowls. He almost blushes over being caught in the gentle scene, but Nori makes no show of noticing. Dwalin glances at Bilbo, who’s also scowling at Nori, although his isn’t nearly so scary as Dwalin’s are. If anything, he just looks cuter than ever. 

Nori pays no mind, just shouts, “C’mon!” and waves over his shoulder. Then he turns to trot off. 

Dwalin gets up too. He looks down at Bilbo, wanting to invite the hobbit along, but Bilbo’s wilted into something of a pout and is probably too ‘proper’ for a public bath, anyway. Because he can’t think of the right parting words, Dwalin leaves without any. 

Just before the path turns, he dares to look back, to see their kindly halfling coaxing the fawn back out of the thicket.


End file.
